


If You Are To Die, Take With You My Heart

by CAWCAWcastiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Blood, Don't worry, Dying Castiel, Fluff, Forks, I'm sorry?, It might turn out fine in the end, Love Confessions, M/M, Violence, Werewolves, demon scare, humor too, i tried to add some enlightening stuff in?, its really sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2018-03-15 22:38:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3464642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CAWCAWcastiel/pseuds/CAWCAWcastiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Cas was somewhere, a few yards away, and Dean kept getting glances of him when there wasn’t a damn werewolf at his throat. The angel was still going on strong, his trade mark trench coat soaked through in several spots with were blood. He had a slight limp, and he kept cringing when he had to turn a certain direction in urgent speeds.</p><p>This had started out as a regular case, Dean thought, as he drove a silver knife into a particularly nasty werewolf’s stomach, and notched it upwards into the ribs to kill it."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this is my first post on here. I originally posted this on my tumblr as a drabble, but i might add on later, if this gets enough likes? It's really sad, but also really fluffy, don't worry. I added in a little bit of humor to balance out the angst, though it still might feel like rabid pigeons are attacking your heart.
> 
> I had to make some kind of Twilight reference, because of their location. 
> 
> The setting is after Dean gets the mark off, located in Forks, Washington. Trust my description of the place, because I have actually been there. 
> 
> Anyways, enjoy? I'm Sorry?

Well, Dean did say that he would go down fighting.

He just…hadn’t imagined that it would be like this. Sam was at his side, like always. Actually, he was more behind Dean, back to back. That was expected of course.

But, Cas.

Cas was somewhere, a few yards away, and Dean kept getting glances of him when there wasn’t a damn werewolf at his throat. The angel was still going on strong, his trade mark trench coat soaked through in several spots with were blood. He had a slight limp, and he kept cringing when he had to turn a certain direction in urgent speeds.

This had started out as a regular case, Dean thought, as he drove a silver knife into a particularly nasty werewolf’s stomach, and notched it upwards into the ribs to kill it.

There had been reports of several killings in the wooded areas of Western Washington, particularly Forks, Washington. Sam and Dean had thought this was extremely amusing, especially with the similarity to the Twilight books that this case presented. Victims had been devoid of their hearts, chests ripped open and eyes glassy with terror at what was surely a most horrific death.

Castiel had been in the area, tracking down some rebellious angels making miracles happen in Seattle. He had agreed to meet them at the nest they’d located.

Dean feels a shred of amusement in the dark shadows of hunting at the recent memory of going to a certain hot spring located an hour from Forks. He’d never been to a hot spring, and no matter how relaxing it actually was, he and Sam were on edge the whole entire time. The whole place reeked of sulfur. Dean had the demon killing knife in the waistband of his swim trunks the whole entire time. And he thought he saw Sam doing a few incantaions over the water with a Holy charm.

In the end, a lady working there had explained that it was just the smell of the water being purified, nothing else. She had obviously been watching them, and was slightly skeptical of them when they left.

They had underestimated just how many werewolfs there would be, though. They should have seen it coming, Sam had said to him before they broke into battle, there were a lot more killings than usual. One werewolf didn’t need that many hearts in three days.

But now, here they are. Over two dozen weres surround him, clawing and tearing at his skin, foam dripping out of some of their mouths, in their rage. Dean would be foaming at the mouth too, if a few guys came into his home and started killing his family. Seeing as most of his family was dead though, that wouldn’t work too well.

An unfamiliar scream brought Dean from his thoughtful, killing induced haze, and back to reality. He realized it wasn’t Sammy, seeing as it would have been closer had it been him. If it wasn’t Sammy…Panic gripped Dean’s insides as he looked in Castiel’s direction.

The dark haired man was kneeling now, knife knocked away. He had a hand on his side, holding his organs inside, and there was a female werewolf standing above him. She had her right hand raised, claws beared, while her left gripped Castiel’s blood spattered shirt. An ugly, sort of triumphant smile was spread across her face.

Anger mixed with the panic inside of Dean, and it broiled and bubbled up until Dean was growling. He roughly shoved his knife into the side of a male werewolf’s face, then he broke contact with Sam and, in a desperate move, dashed towards Cas.

Of course, he didn’t get there in time.

The female was already in that downward motion; already slashing Castiel open from the left side of his collarbone to his right pec. Dean just got there a second afterwards, lifting the were off the ground with the force of his thrust. She growled, struggling before the life left her with a final whimper.

Dean kicked her body away with a snarl of disgust. Then he looked back down at Cas.

Castiel was sprawled across the white of the carpet, his blood a startling red against the colorless backdrop. And it was everywhere. He was gasping, trying to clasp his side and his chest at the same time. He was trying to hold the gashes closed.

Dean kneeled down beside him, stabbing a nearby werewolf when it came near.

Even more panic arose when his friend started to cough. Ugly, wet coughs that seemed to rattle even Dean down his core. He was struggling to keep his eyes open, but kept them trained on Dean.

"Dean," His voice was ragged, choked with his own blood. "Dean Winchester."

"Yeah. Yeah, hey Cas." Dean replied, shielding the angel’s body with his own as he struggled to get Castiel on his feet. He heard a gunshot somewhere off to his left, and looked over to find Sam, gun raised, and a sudden dead male behind him. "Hey, buddy, we gotta get you on your feet, here. You have to help me with this."

Castiel didn’t answer, and when he glanced down from fending off another were, he saw that dark head shaking back and forth, eyes drooping.

"Dean!" Sam called out, clashing with a creature’s claws with his own silver knife. "There’s too many of them!"

"Then we kill as many as we can! We have to make sure they don’t hurt anyone else, Sam!" Deam called back gruffly, diverting his attention back to Castiel.

He was still shaking his damn head, the stubborn bastard. Dean stopped him with his fingers, running them through the messy hair atop his angel’s head. They were shaking, Dean noticed, glumly.

"N-No, Dean," Castiel said, his voice fading down into something remorseful. The hunter hated it, hated what it might mean. He didn’t want to think about it. "Go with Sam. There are too many. Save yourself."

"Cas. No." Dean said, firm. He was still trying to his friend’s body across the floor of the house, leaving a bloody trail in his wake. Castiel kept wincing and groaning in pain every time Dean pulled on his wounds. Which was pretty much every time he tried to drag him. "I’m-" drag. "not-" drag. "leaving-" another drag. "you."

Sam was still fighting the things off, and now all three of them were totally covered in blood. Cas couldn’t even stand, his failing grace making him weaker, as well the blood loss from his wounds. Gradually, Dean got Cas to the front of the door of the house they were in, but he definitely couldn’t just drag him down the seven dozen steps that actually led up to the door.

Damnit.

He could feel the tears coming on, now, because he couldn’t just let Cas die like this. On a hunt that Dean had asked him to come on. It was all his fault. He should’ve seen the warning signs that this case presented in the first place. He should’ve recruited more hunters, different hunters, to handle this. Because there were just too many of them. Too many. And Sam couldn’t hold them all off on his own, what with the way he was already lagging and out of breath.

Dean felt them slide down his cheeks as he parried another blow, slashing his arm open in the process. He cried out with the pain, and abrubtly kicked the thing back into the house, into Sam’s waiting knife.

Cas whimpered below him, clutching his wounds tighter as he tried to curl up. This human thing was really affecting Castiel in ways Dean couldn’t imagine. He couldn’t just heal himself anymore, with barely any of his grace left, and that left him vulnerable, as he was now.

Sam was on the porch now, as well. With one last shove into the group of werewolves crowding the door, the younger winchester pulled the door shut.

With one last, desperate effort, Dean reached down, and pulled Castiel up into his arms, bridal style. He winced as it pulled at his arm, but felt more concern for the angel in his arms, who was biting his lip until he was bleeding.

He couldn’t help but be reminded that the last time he was in this situation, it was against a bunch of hellhounds. And it was Jo Harvelle in his arms, not Castiel, Angel of the Lord.

At a speed and steadiness that even John Winchester would’ve been impressed with, they were racing down the stairs, Sam in front of them. Castiel’s head was already bobbing alarmingly, his eyes rolling slightly as he struggled to keep consciousness.

When they got to the impala, Sam pulled an impressive move where he opened the door to the backseat and the driver’s side door at the same exact time. He ducked into the car, already inserting the keys into the ignition, while Dean folded himself and Castiel into the back.

The tires screeched on the concrete of the driveway, as Sam literally stepped on it. It would’ve reminded Dean a little bit of Spongebob if he weren’t in panic mode.

All he could hear was Castiel’s erratic breathing below him, as he helped press down on the wounds the angel had obtained. He didn’t hear Sam and his decision to take them to the nearest hospital, nor did he hear the growling of the countless wolves running distantly behind them. It was just Castiel. Just Cas.

Dean patted the angel’s cheek, trying to keep him awake. “Cas, man, you have to stay conscious.” He said weakly, trying not to let his voice break. But Castiel’s blood was still pouring out of his wounds, soaking through the layers of shirts Dean wore. It was so much, so red. It chilled him to the bone.

Castiel’s hand was weakly moving about, feeling around, touching, until it suddenly rested on Dean’s cheek. His eyes widened as Castiel fixed him with a pale stare, one of their old habits, one they hadn’t had in such a long time. It was unnerving, and then Castiel was speaking, voice rough and barely there.

"Dean Winchester." He said, stroking Dean’s cheek with clammy hands, cold hands. "The man who deserves to be saved."

A sob is released from Dean’s throat, and he clutches Cas’ hand in his, squeezing it tightly. He brings their joined hands up to his lips, pressing his lips to the back of Castiel’s. He rocks back and forth slightly, closes his eyes, tries to imagine this isn’t happening; that they’re really just back at the bunker, and Dean has fallen asleep on the couch again while watching Game Of Thrones.

"Come here." The request is soft, full of remorse. And Dean does. He bends down, resting his cheek against Cas’, and sobs wetly into his neck. Castiel’s breath is unsteady against his ear, barely there, and he uses the last of it for, "You deserve to be loved, Dean. Do not forget that, for I never have, and I will always," He coughs weakly, bringing his other hand from between their bodies, and resting it on Dean’s hip. "Love you."

A short press of dry lips to the side of his face is the last that Dean feels from Castiel, Angel of the Lord. His breathing putters out, like an old vehicle out of fuel.

"Cas?" Dean asks, quietly, still pressed to the side of his angel’s face. Their hands are still clasped together, but now Castiel’s is limp in his, unmoving. "Cas!"

He pulls back, dislodging the hand that was resting at his hip. Cas’ eyes are closed, and when Dean checks, there’s barely a pulse. His voice is breaking now, whispering his best friend’s name over and over, trying to will the life back into the body on his lap.

Desperately, he looks up to make eye contact with Sam in the rearview mirror.

"Go faster!" He shouts, eyes watering even more, as he pulls Castiel’s limp body to his own, rocking back and forth. "Go faster."

Dean cries into the dark hair that he had always loved so much, his tears making it damp. His face is probably red and puffy from it, but he can’t seem to stop.

It can’t end like this. It can’t.

"Cas, you’re gonna be okay." He says, burrowing even more into the hair atop Castiel’s head so it sounds muffled. "You can’t just say that-that you love a guy, and die without letting him…without letting me tell you back. You can’t. You’re not gonna die, Cas, please. Please."

He presses his lips to Castiel’s forehead, clenching his eyes shut just as they pull into the emergency parking at the hospital.

Dean might’ve said he would go down fighting, but he certainly wasn’t going to let Castiel go down before him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of the first chapter, because why not?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright! After having this half done for so long, I have finally finished it. I'm sorry it took so long, but here it is!
> 
> Thank you guys, for your support! I hope you like it!

Even before Dean had opened the damn car door, nurses and doctors were rushing out of the large automatic doors. Dean could tell they were barely containing their panic beneath a mask of professionalism when they caught sight of Castiel.

The angel's clothing was soaked through with his own blood, as well as others'. The whole front of his normally pristine, white dress shirt was totally red, sticking to the ugly wound across Castiel's front. It had already started drying in places, and Dean knew it would be a pain in the ass for the medics to peel the shirt back from it, because he had had the feeling before. It wasn't a pleasant one.

With a grunt, he lifted Castiel back into his arms, and proceeded to shimmy out of the impala. His sore muscles protested, as did the cut across his forearm, but he couldn't care about that. He had to make sure his friend, his _something_ , lived.

The nurses were already rolling the gurney over to him, telling him to try and be careful as he placed Castiel upon the portable hospital bed. He could barely hear them over the roar of adrenaline in his ears. The wall of voices whispering to him through the dark. _This is all your fault_ , They said, and they sounded suspiciously like his father, _Castiel is dying because of you. YOU dragged him along on this hunt; he should be back in Seattle still, helping Heaven bring in those renegade Angels._

His hands were shaking now, as he stayed next to the gurney, grasping the metal side bars loosely. He needed something to hold onto, at least.

Dean barely registered a nurse coming up to stand next to him; he was too focused on keeping up with the fast paced doctors and paramedics that were racing to get Castiel into surgery. He only noticed her, when her hands (surprisingly strong, he might add) pried his from the bed.

That, was probably the worst decision she could have made. Although she wouldn't have known what would happen next.

Dean started screaming.

Not one of those bloodcurdling ones you see in crappy horror flicks, _oh no_ , this was much worse.

His screams sounded like agony, pure emotional pain. They pierced through the air, turning the few heads not occupied with keeping the unconscious Angel alive. Eyes widened, not even breathing, Dean must have looked like he had a mental affliction. Like he was having a panic attack.

Which, you could say, he was. _A full blown panic attack_.

His only connection to Castiel had been severed, and he felt a bright, livid urgency in the pit of his stomach come to life. He _had_ to be there for him, for _Cas_.

The nurse beside him recoiled, her hand coming away as if it had been burned.

He must have looked a sight indeed, if the genuine fear in her eyes said anything at all. Dean only felt a slight guilt in comparison to the agony that his emotions were experiencing. He hadn't ever felt this way, except for maybe when Sam was hurt. Pure longing bloomed in his chest, clouding out his senses as he watched the gurney turn a corner into another part of the hospital.

He must have tried to make a dash for it, to try and catch up to them, because suddenly there were strong arms holding him round the shoulders, keeping him in place as he strained to escape. The person behind him was grunting with exertion at the force at which Dean was struggling, and he guessed it might've been Sam, judging by the height difference. He couldn't tell though. All he could hear was his own screams echoing throughout the hallway, and his own self-loathing thoughts.

" _Cas!_ " His voice was hoarse, scratchy. Probably from all the crying in the car, but he couldn't stop it from reaching almost to the point where he was screeching Castiel's name. Over and over again.

Briefly, he remembered a hand off to his right, a sharp stinging in his shoulder, and a voice whispering in soft tones. _Stay calm, Dean. He'll be okay_.

Then he blurrily drifted into darkness, relaxing against the hold on his body.

~~~~~~~~~~~

When Dean woke up, he was in a hospital bed.

Naturally, he was a little confused at first.

His clothes were neatly folded up across the room, from what he could see, and Sam was nowhere to be seen. His vision was blurry, his mouth dry and tasting like cardboard. Actually, no, scratch that. He’d tasted cardboard. This was worse.

It tasted like dried up blood, snot, and what also tasted like tears. Huh. Odd.

Dean sat there for a moment, feeling utterly displaced in his backless hospital gown. It reminded him of the time when he broke his leg a few years ago. When Dick Roman and his crew were still out and about and not in purgatory. Purgatory…

Then, it hit him.

All the grief and built up despair that he’d been confused about for the last few moments dissipated, leaving only panic.

 _Cas_.

_Where is Cas?_

Dean can already feel his breathing picking up, his chest rising and falling at a rapid pace. Next to him, the heart monitor blips along with his steadily increasing pulse. No doubt, its alerting some nurse somewhere that he’s about to have a heart attack.

Which, he just might, if he doesn’t find out where Cas is.

And, take his word for it, he’s had one before, and never wants to have one again. Even if its not by being electrocuted this time. It would still feel like he was. Slowly, he moves the covers away from his body, groaning as his muscles tighten in protest. Absently, he tears the IV out of his arm, and unclips the heart monitor from his finger. Then, comes the gruelling task of walking while drugged.

His legs refuse to cooperate, of course. They wobble every time Dean takes a step, and he has to grip the side of the bed tightly before they even begin to agree with the task of walking. Even then, he still has to end up using a walking stick placed conveniently by his bed.

Silently, he thanks Sam and his ability to know Dean a little too well.

He gets halfway out the door before he realizes he doesn’t know Cas’s room number. No one will tell him. When he asks a passing nurse, she tuts at him fretfully before ushering him back to his bed, lecturing him on getting enough rest before he tries to get up again.

Dean waits about five minutes before he tries again, this time leaving any doctors or nurses he sees to their own duties. He makes a bold effort to stay out of sight whenever he sees the nurse who put him down last time.

The white tiles beneath his bare feet are freezing as hell. His toes are probably going to fall off if he doesn’t find Sam soon. Or Cas. Each step elicits a squeaking of plain skin on porcelain, the sound grating on his nerves and making him clutch tighter to the cane in his hand.

Of course, this makes pain shoot up his arm from his recent injury. The doctors apparently deemed the gash deep enough that they decided to stitch it up. Which, Dean supposed, saved him the trouble of doing it himself later on. But still, he didn’t exactly like the idea of creepy nurses stabbing a needle through his skin when he wasn’t even awake.

As he made his way through the halls, breath coming out in harsh puffs, feet slapping against hospital tile, a neverending manta ran through his head. Over and over again, the words Gotta find Cas. Gotta find Cas. Gotta find Cas. Each hospital room he could see into was decidedly Cas-deficient. There are a lot of families here, he notices, many crying over loved ones asleep in their beds. Others, antsy, chittery folks who are deathly worried about whoever they’re waiting for news from.

Several times, he passes a few doctors. Each of them give him skeptical looks, as if they are unsure about his legitimacy for being out of bed himself.

Hah.

The sons of bitches would have to try harder than that. Dean freaking Winchester didn’t give in to a few admonishing looks.

Well.

Unless they were Cas. Or Sam. Or Bobby. Probably Charlie too.

But.You get the jist.

Nobody except people close to him can make him do anything.

“Dean!” A voice breaks through his thoughts, and he sighs in relief before turning around to face his brother. The sasquatch of a man is across the hallway, in a part of the hospital he forgot to check. Of course.

When he tries moving towards him though, he must step wrong. Suddenly he’s falling, putting out his injured arm to catch himself, and grunting in pain because sparks are shooting up his arm, lighting the entire limb up like it’s on fire.

Dean is rolling back onto his back now, trying to push the pain down, and failing. The cane has fallen beside his leg, and he kicks at it with each burst of adrenaline. It’s overwhelming, the amount of his jelly his legs currently are, and he can barely control them as he registers Sam kneeling next to him.

“Dean.” He says, grabbing his shoulder, and shaking. The grip of his hand is tight, and definitely not what he wants right now. The pain has spread to his shoulder, where he can feel what is actually a little bit of bandaging. He hadn’t realized that he was even injured there. And Sam has his hand right where the damn injury is. “Dean, are you okay?”

He groans, opening his eyes from their clenched state, and tries to adjust to the sudden light on the room. Sam’s face comes into view, his concern given away by the scrunching of eyebrows and tightening of lips. He obviously doesn’t know what to do for Dean, by the way his other hand, the one that isn’t painfully grasping his shoulder, is hovering hesitantly next to him. Right now, everything is sensitive, he notices, and he tries to push Sam’s hand away from his shoulder, to no avail.

“Dean, come on. Answer me, jackass.” Sam tries, again.

“I’m fine.” Dean growls back impatiently. Finally ( _Finally_ ), Sam takes his hand away from his brother’s injured shoulder. Instead, the younger Winchester moves behind Dean to haul him up by the armpits, and Dean stumbles for a little longer before he finally gets his legs back under him. They still behave like he has chopsticks for legs though. “Cas?”

Sam raises an eyebrow as Dean turns to face him, still leaning heavily upon the taller male.

“He’s at the end of the hall over there. I’ve been in there for the last hour, keeping an eye on him.” He says, even as Dean is already moving in that direction. He follows behind reluctantly, acting like a begrudged puppy who doesn’t feel like taking a bath, but has to anyways.

“How’s he doing?” Dean asks, focusing on keeping his steps steady so he doesn’t take another fall. He can still feel the lasting pain of only moments ago. It laces through his arm dully, throbbing faintly, so he switches his cane to the other hand, faltering in the process.

“He’s...He’s okay,” At this, Dean stops abruptly mid step. Slowly, ever so slowly, the elder Winchester turns towards Sam, fixing him with a bitch face that tells his brother he isn’t buying any of his shit. Sam sighs. “Listen, Dean. You’ll have to see when you get in there.”

The way he says it clearly causes a small, no, large, crack to surface in Dean’s facade. The crack opens a little bit, and worry can be seen clear as day, evidently eating away at him from the inside.

Sam thinks he’s about to cry again, before he turns back to his journey across the hallway. His steps are hobbled, and he’s limping, and maybe Sam feels just a little bit of pity for the way Dean’s hand is starting to shake noticeably, among other things.

The best thing, though, is to let Dean find out for himself.

As they make their way down the corridor, silence envelopes them, the only sound being that of Dean’s harsh breathing. It’s only a few minutes, but it feels like an eternity. At some point along the way, Sam grasps Dean’s elbow for extra support.

When they finally arrive at the door, Dean hesitates only two seconds before shoving the offending thing open, revealing the contents of the room.

What Dean sees makes his knees weaken further than they already were, and Sam has to tighten his grip on his brother’s arm as the elder leans unsteadily.A small whimper escapes cracked lips, and Sam shifts nervously.

Cas is laying in the bed, covered in blankets up to his waist. Tubes are sticking out of his body in different places; one is in his mouth, helping him breathe, a couple in his arms, and several more trailing off beneath the thick pile of blankets keeping the injured angel warm. His eyes are closed, but the bags beneath them are still visibly noticeable, deep and purple, like bruises. The heart monitor beeps consistently next to the bed, yet slowly. It reminds everyone in the room just how close this celestial being came to death only several hours before.

Dean stumbles, tugs against his brother, next to him. He almost trips in his haste to get closer to Castiel, very nearly falling on his face again. His expression scares Sam just a little bit. It’s desperate, determined. Concern shines brightly in green eyes, reflecting off of unshed tears, pupils focused on the bed in front of him, on the person occupying it.

“Cas. _Cas_.” Dean says, under his breath, almost delicately. Like a language being spoken again for the first time in years.

He finally makes it to the bed, where he collapses next to it, kneeling on one wobbly leg. His hands grip tightly to the sheets of Castiel’s bed, clenching to the point where his knuckles turn white and his nails dig into his palm, almost drawing blood. His head is ducked, hidden behind his bicep as he tries to compose himself.

Dean stares down at the plain tile floors of the hospital room, choking silently on tears that threaten to spill over. This is another episode like the car, already. Dean crying over Castiel’s unconscious body, almost lifeless with the way there is no movement at all. The tears then start to slip down his cheeks, drip down onto the tiles. They splash a little bit when they make contact, dispersing into more and more separate drops as more and more fall.

“ _Cas_.” He says, again. This would be the third time he’s broken down today, already. Sam must think I’m a wuss, with the way he’s seen me like this more times than I can count, he thinks spitefully, suddenly hating his tears. Cas wouldn’t break down like this.

Dean wipes angrily at the tears on his cheeks, looking up at the angel in the hospital bed above him.

Bright blue eyes greet him.

Dean inhales sharply.

They stare at each other, the two of them, like they did in the car, like they used to.

Sam watches them with wide eyes, off to the side. But Dean barely notices him. All he can do is watch as Cas slowly starts to smile, lips pulling up into something resembling remorse, or maybe something happier. Dean doesn’t know.

All he can think is, _Cas is alive._

And then, he’s suddenly off the floor, gripping tightly to Castiel’s waist, face buried in a toned stomach covered by a flimsy hospital gown. Sam moves to press the nurse button, and almost immediately, three ladies wearing different colored hospital garbs come rushing into the room.

They try to get him to move at first, as they gently help Cas remove the breathing tube from his throat, but he won’t budge. He just holds on as tight as he can. Dean can hear one of the nurses sigh in fond frustration, but she doesn’t say anything, only gently smiling back at Sam and shaking her head.

Warm hands card through his hair, and he can already tell it’s Cas.

He lifts his head to stare up at the angel that he’s attached himself to, and his breath hitches as he sees that Castiel is now brightly beaming down at him, eyes crinkling at the corners. His dark hair is messed up in a way that tells he has been sleeping for a long time, and Dean wishes that he had the will to reach up and do what Cas is doing now, gently rubbing at his scalp and tugging on his hair. It’s like a massage.

The nurses mill around them, doing their jobs of checking on Cas’s vitals and asking him questions about if he remembers anything or how he was hurt, and if he’s feeling any pain right now. Castiel answers obediently, already having had his share of hospital etiquette, but continues to stare down at Dean. It makes Dean happier than he would willingly admit, to be honest.

“Cas.” Dean starts.

“Dean.” Cas says back, in the faintest voice. It’s deep, and just a little bit hoarser than Dean remembers, but it’s still Cas’.

Dean clears his own throat, and, blushing slightly, looks down at where he has his arms wrapped Castiel’s middle. The angel above him doesn’t seem to mind one bit, but it suddenly makes him self conscious of how he could be hurting him. Reluctantly, he tries to pull away.

A single hand on his arm stops him, feather light, but still undeniably there. Dean stares at it. It takes awhile, like the right words are being searched for, but eventually Cas speaks. “Don’t.”

Dean licks his lips, finally aware that they’re dry and oh _so dry_.

“Why?” He asks, apprehensively.

Silence.

“I need you.”

More silence.

Sam is now slowly inching towards the door, trying to be as quiet as possible, and not ruin the moment. He has a feeling that this is between them, and only them. Once he makes it, he quickly motions at the nurses to leave. They do, but not before giving him confused looks, and he gently shuts the door behind him.

“You...You need me?” Dean finally says, staring wide eyed at the person in front of him. The person who is currently looking at him with a mixture of fondness and exasperation. Okay, well. Okay.

“Yes.”

“You sure?” Dean smirks, a glint of mischief igniting his eyes. Cas rolls his own. “I’m sure.”

“You’re sure you’re sure?”

“Dean.”

“Yeah?” He is smiling warmly up at the angel now, something different settling in his eyes from the earlier humor. Everything seems to slow down, falling into place in this one moment of time, Dean thinks.

“Shut up, and kiss me.”

“Oh. Yeah, sure. Alright.”

And he does, their mouths connecting and sliding together as one, if not a little awkwardly for their first kiss together. But it still elicits that happy noise that each one of them makes when Cas whispers into Dean’s mouth, “Thank you, my Righteous man.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a side note, guys, I do requests. Just send me a prompt and I'll get to it as fast as I can! I do any ship, doesn't have to be Destiel, so don't be afraid to send me one. I'm perfectly accepting of what you like and I won't judge you for it. 
> 
> Thank you.


End file.
